


and just like always, you want more than you can have

by slutpuff (systemsofstories)



Series: Tales From The Devil's Nest [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Aromantic Character, Blowjobs, Greed's POV; 2nd person, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Petplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Queerplatonic relationship, Rough Oral Sex, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, aro greed, au: everything's the same except greeds tattoo is on his right hand, canon-typical objectification, greed is —get this— greedy, he also never shuts up inside, if that's an important detail, intersex character though you could easily not know if I didn't tell you, is it petplay if he's actually a dog we just don't know, it isn't though, it's a qpr but could be read as romantic, its dolcetto to both, liberal use of run on sentences, no plot but a good bit of substance, otherwise canon compliant, spins into introspection at some point somehow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 23:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20199673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/systemsofstories/pseuds/slutpuff
Summary: You always have a habit of desiring too much with time only for far too little, but you're not complaining, and Dolcetto's not complaining, but you think perhaps the innkeeper might.Or, Greed wants, Dolcetto gets, and a lot of...fun is had in the process.





	and just like always, you want more than you can have

**Author's Note:**

> a note on the orientation applied to greed in the tags:
> 
> i am uncomfortably well aware of the stigma and stereotypes of alloaro people as hypersexual and i get that you might be alarmed at me slapping that orientation on someone literally named greed and having him really like sex and whatnot. rest assured im just a hypersexual alloaro that really likes sex and really identifies with greed. don't worry it ain't that deep.
> 
> for levi: enjoy man
> 
> ty to gregory, another alter who posts (or doesnt) under our pseud, parrier dolch, who helped me write

He's small by human standards. To a homunculus like you, he's practically weightless.

  
You carry him in one arm, making for your room in the cruddy inn you'd booked a night in. Dolcetto squirms a bit in your arm, not trying to escape as it looked, but actually trying to rub himself against his pants, your arm, your clothes, anything. It was cute, honestly. You'd picked up such a good dog.

  
The two of you had been sitting around a small fire in the nearby woods. He'd laid his upper body in your lap like always, always your eager pet, always affectionate, always yours. It was always a certainty that he'd stay by you, it was the purest expression of his nature.

  
Good boy.

  
You'd been petting him before your hand —your right, the ouroboros highlighted by the flame and making you capture the image before you in your mind, an art critique away from an acclaimed portraiture of your nature and his combined— caressed its way down his neck and under his collar, your nails tracing delicately over his skin. From your lap he'd watched you, and you had returned the favour.

  
There was adoration in his eyes when he'd watched you, and also whenever he looked at you, and man did it just nonstop skyrocket your opinion of yourself. Your dog was the best companion you had, because you could glance at him and remember that you don't just want it all; you deserve it.

  
You think sometimes that he pushes your ego high enough that you could take Pride's title.

  
And now you're trekking up a hill to the town with him in tow, and this is one of those times, because he's looking at you like you're God and pushing against and gripping you like a dying man gasping for air, and you had seen the look that had grown on his face by the fire and you knew that in a matter of minutes your ego was gonna soar in a way Pride wishes he could.

  
Father ought to give you the creepy shadow powers.

  
You make it back to the inn and no sooner than you get in the door Dolcetto is out of your arm and on his knees on the floor in the center of the room.

  
"Please, Greed," he begs, no later than the second the door is closed. "Please let me."

  
You don't know what he particularly has in mind at the moment. You also know it doesn't matter, because if he wanted something specific enough he'd say so. This was him being desperate to please, an eager pet indeed.

  
You strip off your shirt and jacket walking to him, stopping just before collision and immediately his lips are on you. He kisses your stomach, your hips, your engorged cock through your pants, your thighs, then up to your chest, your collarbone, your shoulders, the tattoo on your hand.

  
He returns to his knees and traces your cock with his fingers before pressing it to his face, then drawing away and fiddling with your pants, and your hand finds its way back into his jet-black hair. He gets your dick out and holds it in his hands, and admires it as if it were art or something. Then he touches it to his face, kisses it, and finally takes it into his mouth.

  
"Mm, good boy." you let drawl out, and you can feel your words hit him as physical sensations on your cock. You grip a handful of hair in between your fingers and guide his mouth further down your shaft, which he obliges enthusiastically. He's moving more, going farther, going faster. It feels incredible. Not pausing for the effort, he reaches up to grip your hips for leverage to pull himself down further still. He moves oddly a few times and _something_ yields to your cock, and god was this the money, because suddenly you bottom out the rest of the way into his throat with ease. It's warm, wet, tight, and _all fucking yours_, and _fuck_.

  
You know he can take it. Or at least, you know he likes to try, so you start moving your hips just a bit, to ease him in before you outright fuck his face. The angle of your bodies makes the shifting bulge of your cock in his throat just barely visible, and god was that a favourite sight to see.

  
"You're doing good." you praise, your air of cockiness colouring your voice because you can't even make yourself try to mislead him, and you knew you were about to crank the difficulty up, hard. He could take it (or at least try) —it was nothing you hadn't done before.

  
You let loose. Still gripping a fistful of his hair you move his head in rhythm with your hips, sliding up and down within his throat at a much higher pace and the good, earnest puppy he was had him struggling to handle it, trying his damn best, so desperate to please and satisfy that you know he'd walk right off the edge of the world to do it, and it's such an endearing quality that you pull out to let him breathe just before he chokes for his sake.

You gently scratch/pet/do whatever the hell people called that thing that dogs love, you can't remember, but you do it at the nape of his neck and his eyes squint a little as he wipes his face. Your trademark grin spreads over yours.

  
"God, you're such a good boy for me." you say, and he's nodding with zeal as he's rubbing away the tears that the physical strain of your cock forced out. "I think that might have broken your record for holding your breath."

  
You laugh a bit and he smiles, not a cocky smirk or obligatory grin, but a warm softness of his face as he lights up from your praise. Your left hand finds itself on your cock and stroking.

  
The two of you had barely even started anything yet, but already Dolcetto was a fucking mess. Hair fucked up, unwiped strings of saliva, evidence of tears, puffy lips, and you weren't even close to through with him. You smirk. Perhaps you'd break him tonight. He was yours to break, and loving what's yours means enjoying things to their fullest. You often broke your things.

  
You just always took care to fix them when you did. Dolcetto especially included. Whichever whim the night would chase, he'd be well taken care of.

  
He's had a chance to breath and you gently coax his head back down, mumbling 'good boy's as he dutifully takes your cock back, and the "easing" you do this time is honestly not very easy or slow at all but he takes it like a champ. You were going to have to really reward him this time. You wonder if he somehow practiced, and even with all that was happening, the idea of him being so dedicated to your cock that he'd spend time on his own with toys and whatnot to train himself for it made your cock throb.

  
You pick up your pace.

  
Normally you might've stretched the blowjob out awhile longer. But you were working yourself up faster than usual and Dolcetto was doing better than his usual fantastic too, and more than anything else you wanted to move to something a little more traditionally satisfying for him. Traditionally, because you knew damn well he loved this; a face can't be so blissed out around a mouthful of cock without its owner loving what they're doing.

  
You push into him as deep as you'll go and thrust your hips anyway as if it'll let you go even farther, and like the saint of cocksucking your loyal pet most certainly was he sucks and swallows and you grip his hair and hold him down and come down his throat with the explosive force of an orgasm that makes your head spin as it crashes over you.

  
You distantly hear Dolcetto start to choke, and fuck, you can't blame him. But eager to please, he pushes through on what you presume to be sheer willpower alone and _swallows_ it all, and before you know it you're back to petting and praising and then to undressing him not long after.

  
"Such a good boy for me." you say, honestly more thinking aloud than actually directing praise. You didn't say these things just for him. They were true, they were facts.

  
You bring yourself down to eye level with him, squatting to match his height on his knees, and look at his eyes, all glassy and dazed while he panted and recovered. You take the liberty of stroking his cheek. You almost regret not letting your cum splatter on his face —it'd've made for such a pretty sight. But you know how he hates to waste a drop when you let him taste, and seeing that devotion to your pleasure and worship of anything he could consider You, that eagerness to take you in, in, in —well, that won by a landslide. You could paint him white another time. Tomorrow maybe. A few hours, perhaps, if the whim stuck around.

  
You slide his jacket over his shoulders and his shirt up and over his head before resting your palms on Dolcetto's sides, gently but firmly. You relish in the heat of his skin —warmer than usual, he's so hot for you and you know it— and its softness. Humans were so very, very soft. Certainly to you. You could do so much damage to him without even changing forms. You'd never, but you could. And there was a thrill in that —call you you for seeing it this way, but what better display of ownership? How better could it be demonstrated than by what Dolcetto does so often by exposing his vulnerability and sheathing his claws for someone he's seen to be so dangerous when he wants to be?

  
You slide your hands down and around to cup his ass, and lift him effortlessly as you stand. There were better places than the floor for everything else, and you weren't the most patient man in the world. Your cock was plenty hard again, and you liked to play before getting right into it, so if you didn't actually get a move on you'd be hurting by the time that you actually use it again. Refractory periods aren't even set in stone for humans, and for you they were little more than suggestions you frequently disregarded, if not categorically rejected. There were things to do, and cute, whiny little puppies to pet.

  
You carry him to the shitty bed in the room and lay him down, undoing his belt to allow you to slip his pants down, exposing his boxers and the _very_ wet spot on the crotch and leg of them, making you draw in breath in the way a man might sip fine wine.

  
"Very cute." you comment, and when he looks away flustered you add a more explicit bit about just how wet he is.

  
You get on the bed, and straddle his body around his knees, giving you very good access to just about whatever you want, which at this point is just to have as much fun as you can and see just how blitzed you could make Dolcetto from sex alone. It was a fun game, and as with every game you played, you played to win. Even if there's not real win conditions.

  
At the very least, you can set a new high score.

  
You run your fingers down Dolcetto's chest, trailing them to his waistband. You don't touch any farther.

  
Instead you trace them over to the subtle V of his hips, running your nails ever so gently along the dips and curves of bone and flesh and muscle. On occasion, you venture beneath his waistband, but only briefly. He whines in frustration.

  
"Stop toying and come onnnn." he whines, and you think about taking it as a challenge.

  
But tonight you don't, because your cock is throbbing, your dog is cute, and you want to touch him more than you want to tease him.

  
So you slide off his boxers instead of antagonising, and it's worth it because you love getting to see him like this. All laid out, just for you.

  
"You've got a nice pussy." you say, voice lax as usual, your typical cocky grin spread across your face.

  
Your fingers weave through the messy patch of hair to trace themselves over his clit and down the line formed by the meeting of his lips, all the way to the bottom where the slickness of his body slides your finger into him without warning.

  
You take your hand back and indulge in the taste of him, your eyes locked on his. You snicker.

  
"Awfully wet from just sucking me off." you laugh, swinging your leg over to get off of him. You get up and stand at the end of the bed and take in the view.

  
God, you love being you. And god, do you love all the things that belong to you, especially the one that was stretched out in front of you and furiously hiding his face. He was one of your favourites.

  
And beloved possessions deserve upkeep, of course.

  
You lay your chest on the bed —your height meant you had to accept being on your knees right now— and pull Dolcett' towards you, parting his legs and offering him a cocky smile as he finds you between them, his thighs in your arms and your intent to please practically rolling off you in waves. Which should perhaps maybe be frightening, because you often liked to please almost a little Too Much, almost. You were gonna make your boy feel so good he'll think he's going to die.

  
You don't mess around; you offer a last glance to Dolcetto and lean down to kiss along the happy trail that led down his stomach. You lay kisses down at his hip bones, his thighs, the soft skin below his navel; you drag your teeth above his hips and make him shiver. You could do these things forever, really, kissing around lovedrunk and teasing, but that wasn't really your goal, so you kiss back over to the center and place a gentle kiss to his clit before licking up to it from the lower end of his vulva and flicking your tongue against it and his whole body jerks.

  
It's funny, you think, how sensitive he is right now. You're actually surprised —evidently you'd worked him up far more at the fire than you'd thought. And you're glad you did, because the noise he makes as you take his clit in your mouth is spectacular.

  
It's a bit bigger than average. You don't know if that's from something he did transitioning, the chimerisation, or something he'd always had, but it always made it very fun to go down on him. It was big enough to suck on and for Dolcetto's sensitive body, that was a good way to get him to grab your hair and try to make you keep it up, which was as fun to deny as it was to indulge.

  
You're in an indulgent mood though. His whimpers and squeaks that he tries to hold back and his hand in your hair are powerful motivators, and you enjoy it too, so you allowed, for now, Dolcetto to move your head as he pleased and squirm and buck and rut trying to fuck your face. He deserved it.

* * *

  
A bit passes and Dolcetto has gotten _into_ it, and god if it isn't some of the hottest shit.

  
His hips are jerking wildly now, uncontrolled thrusts that are automatic as his body seeks more stimuli, he needs more, more, more, because he can't come from what he has alone, but he can't control himself well enough to give himself more. He'd have to ask you eventually, and you knew that point was coming any moment now. His whines had been getting more and more desperate at alarming rates for about twenty, twenty-five minutes, but the urgency had plateaued at _so, so very desperate_ for the last seven to ten. He'd break his will any moment now, you're sure of it.

  
But he doesn't, stubborn as ever tonight, and so you force the issue by just stopping altogether.

  
"Greed, I swear, if you don't put your mouth back now," he demands almost immediately, bucking up in vain efforts to reach your mouth, your skin, anything. He's unusually bold and direct, and that's it's own sort of hot, but you know you're stronger.

  
He strains against your body. His clit is so visibly erect that it stands prominently, he's dripping on the mattress, and your own cock was really getting into the painful range of hard. You wanted to take him already _so bad_, but you wouldn't yet. Not until you were finished with this at the very least.

  
You keep his legs spread wide to prevent him from rubbing his thighs for even the slightest gratification, and dig in your heels so to speak. He was fighting a losing battle, and you know he knows it.

  
He starts whining.

  
"Greed, for fuck's sake, please." he cries. You lazily flick his clit once with a finger.

  
"Come on, puppy, I know you can beg better than that." you tease, and if the circumstances hadn't already flushed his cheeks to maximum you're sure that would have at at least dusted some on them.

  
He grinds desperately against the air and squeezes his eyes shut.

  
"Fuck, please Greed, please."

  
"Please what?"

  
He groans and you can't help but laugh loudly.

  
"What's the matter, Cett? You gotta use your words. I don't know what you want."

  
He smacks his palms on the sheets he'd been gripping.

  
"Please, Boss! Please fucking suck me off, please Boss, I need to get off so bad, please please pl"

  
He keeps going in raves and rambles but you stop listening because he'd convinced you from the first attempt he'd made. You just wanted more of it and to make him squirm. But you only could make yourself wait for so long.

  
You return to your task, taking him in your mouth, but you want more, to taste more, to give more, to hear him moan more, you want it all and then more than that. You bury yourself in him and suck at his clit, lap at his entrance, tease into it with your tongue. You feel dizzy from it, how good it is, how much you love the sounds you were only subconsciously aware you were hearing, and even as you eat him like you're starving you want more of him, more, more, more. More of him, more of his moans, more of the jerks and spasms in his legs as you brought him closer, closer, closer, and then

  
It happens, he comes, and the brute force of a broken dam courses through his whole body, his hips bucking and legs jerking and his clit pulsing and you can't stop, you aren't satisfied, you haven't had enough, and you draw out his orgasm nearly a whole extra minute because you just can't make yourself quit.

  
You draw away as his tremors gradually slow, wiping your face and moving to hold yourself over him, take his face in your hands and you're kissing.

  
His mouth is cold from all of the heavy breathing you just put him through and it's a nice contrast to yours, but apart from that passing thought you think nothing as you kiss him deeper, clutch at his hair, drink him in. Several times he has to pull away for air and each time it feels like precious moments lost; if you had a higher capacity for thought at the moment you might've cursed the fact that he needs air to live. Though if you had that capacity for thought, you probably would have allowed him breath to start with.

  
But you don't, you don't have that, you have your body, his, a bed, and a wanting needing for his body that Lust never could have dreamed of.

  
"C'mon Dol." you manage, and your hands are pulling at his shoulders and your mind wanders to admiring your pet until you realise that you've laid down and he's climbing onto you.

  
Or more, you kept doing what you were doing and got presented a really lovely sight to observe.

  
"You're gorgeous." you breathe.

  
The haze is fading now but your desire isn't, which really just amounted to you being really, really horny, and really, really hard, and really, really aware of it. Dolcetto was straddling your pelvis just below your dick, and you're so close to what you want but you can't seem to get it fast enough and it feels like you're gonna die if you don't slip inside him this instant, but for real this time.

  
"Are you ready?" you force out, and reach out for his hands; you want to hold him, touch him, he's _yours_, and you want him in your hands. Unfortunately, he needs them to manoeuvre himself, and the inconvenience of being unable to have his hands in yours at this exact second feels world-ending.

  
"Yeah," he breathes, "Please, Boss, I've wanted you so bad."

  
What a fantastic answer.

  
His cheeks are red and he looks a wreck and he's on his knees now, holding himself over your pelvis. You take your cock in your hand and slide it against him to position it at his entrance, and as he lowers himself down, you finally slide inside.

  
Thank fuck.

  
He's warm and soft and everything that anyone else with a pussy is, but better, because he's him and you like that about him, not because he's a half-human puppy with some kind of magic snatch. He bites his lip as he rests at the base of your cock, and you put your left hand on his side, your right pausing at his pelvis before following suit.

  
"That's a good snug fit." you say with a grin, eyes fixed on his as you rub the bulge of your cock's head through his skin. You can feel your hand from inside him.

  
"Always is," he returns, moving around a little to get you at the right angle. "And you say so nearly as often."

  
"Oh, do I?"

  
You give a small chuckle before you slide your right to his other side and caress up his body before returning your hands to his hips.

  
A lot of this part was automatic for you. A good bit of it mechanical, which is not mutually exclusive from it being sensual, but even if it were you wouldn't mind, because this part really wasn't for the sake of the act or the sake of the nut. You'd been there, done that. You loved sex for sex's sake, Sure, absolutely, yes, all the time. You had a lot of it, and a lot with Dolcetto, too. But this, right now, was about being inside him and him being, the opposite of that, and feeling good together, and feeling shit at the same time, and all of that jazz.

  
And it was about looking at him, because god he was prettiest when he was riding you.

  
You bend your legs up on the bed to give yourself enough leverage to take the strain of movement off of him for awhile, to let him lay his body down on yours and breathe while you take up the thrusts and move his hips for him. He rests his head at your chest, kissing it breathlessly. With how you're fucking, he doesn't quite reach your face, and it's a fucking shame because of how badly you want to taste his mouth on yours again.

  
Instead, you bite your lip and close your eyes and let yourself _feel_ it all, his lips, his walls around you, his nails on your back; you had gotten lost in the sentimental so much that you'd neglected to realise just how good it all felt, or that you had been laying with a stupidly sappy expression for awhile.

  
"I love you." you say in a low, husky whisper. Dolcetto nods with vigor against your chest and his grip on your back tightens and you know he's returning the feeling as best as one can without the breath to speak, but he didn't need to.

  
You already knew anyway.

  
You buck up with more force than before and he moans, and it adds to the growing collection of every move and sound he's ever made that you've loved, adds to the intensity building in your dick, adds to your _wanting_, and you pick up your pace. Once again, as you always do, you find yourself overtaken by your simple nature to want, want, want.

  
You want him. You have him, but you crave more, to have him part of you, one with you, and you're as close to that as you could get. You want his moans, you want to give him pleasure, you want the thrill of seeing him teeter on the edge, the satisfaction of pushing him off of it. You want his skin in your teeth, purple marks on his neck, want him trembling, want him screaming. You want to get off, you want to not. You want to see your cum dripping out of him as soon as possible, you want to draw it out as long as you can. You want every variation of how this could go and you terribly want to be able to make that happen.

  
But you only get one, and the decisions aren't all yours. You have limitations, there are boundaries, there's a cumdrunk puppy that's desperately pushing back against you that you can't bear to deny. There'd be more nights like this one, and mornings, and days.

  
And you'd want more than you can get during every single one of them.

  
You crane your neck forward to just barely manage to kiss the top of his head and move one hand down to stroke Dolcetto off as you fuck him, taking him between your fingers and rubbing with your thumb. You craft a rhythm of the strokes with your thrusts, taking great care to keep even rhythms even as your own needs drive your thrusting faster. But to the best you could you keep your movements in sync and consistent, repetitive, predictable, building, building, building until you felt like you couldn't stop yourself, but you force it down, waiting, waiting. Dolcetto is frantic now, his motions erratic as he tries so hard to rut against your hand, fuck himself on your cock, he's moaning and grunting and there's an occasional squeak and it's hot, so hot, and it's building, building

  
And then it's white, you're coming, your hand is tearing scratches on his hip and you're pulsing inside of him as you fill him with your cum and you're as deep as you can be but you thrust against him meaninglessly more, trying to push deeper by your will alone. His walls squeeze around you like they're synced to the throbs of your cock and it's like the two work to keep the other going, drawing your orgasm out, out, out.

  
It finally fades and Dolcetto is collapsed on your chest, his hands on your shoulders, panting. You're holding him, you're inside of him, and you want to stay this way for now.

  
"Fuck." you breathe, your head too fuzzy to say anything else. "_Fuck_."

  
Dolcetto nodded against you.

  
"Mhm." he grunted.

  
"IloveyouDol." you mumble, and he actually laughs a little.

  
"I love you too, Boss."

  
You're tired. 'Sleepy.' You might not actually need rest, not in the way Dolcetto or Roa or any of the others do, but you do get tired. It's less of a bodily need and more like taking a break. And with Dolcetto very close to falling asleep on top of you, a break sounded very good to have in a moment.

  
You reluctantly lift Dolcetto off of you and watch your cum pour out of him and onto your stomach. It's as cute and hot as you knew it'd be —and you save the image in your mind— but it's a little sad too, to part after reaching or at least glancing the togetherness you'd craved. But he needs to rest, and you want to, and it'd be a pain in the ass to clean if you wait until morning.

  
So you do it now.

  
A few minutes later and the cum is wiped up, sweat cleaned off with a rag, and a taste of both of your cum stolen from Dolcetto's pussy, much to his squeaking surprise. The chores all get done, and you flop back down next to Dolcetto and lazily tug him close.

  
"How do you feel?" you ask, resting your chin on his shoulder. You nuzzle the side of his jaw with the tip of your nose, and he moves his head to rub you back.

  
"Good." he answers, and even though you can't see his face you know he's smiling.

  
"That's good. I feel great." you say.

  
He nods, and you both fall silent, and it doesn't take much longer until you're sure he's asleep, his diaphragm rising and falling in steady patterns within your embrace.

  
He pretty, you think, though he's perhaps a little plain to the average man or woman or chimera or Envy. His clothes aren't flashy, and his build is average; his face isn't a model's, and his hair was of no special cut nor style. But it was soft, and you liked the way it looked in firelight, and his face could span expressions from the soft and gentle to the most fiercely determined you'd ever seen. His build made him good with his sword, and also soft in your arms. His clothes...were still plain, but you think he'd probably look ridiculous if he tried to wear just about anything else. And for any other quality someone might shoot him down for, you could give a reason why it was lovely, because no one in the world knew what made things worth wanting better than you.

  
Yes, just you and you alone could claim that distinction, and that's what made you you and not Pride or Lust or any of your other bastard siblings. That's what emblazoned your ouroboros on your hand, and that's what made you leave the others. And that's what put you here, instead, body held against Dolcetto's, in the bed of a shitty inn in a poor excuse for a town, where the rest of your nest likely slept just down the hall to regain their energy for the neverending scavenger hunt that you led them on today and will continue tomorrow, tomorrow's tomorrow, and the one that comes after that. It made you never satisfied —there was always something else worth wanting.

  
But conversely, it also made you easy to please. You'd been searching out your current objective for weeks, but right now...you were content. Happy to lay with your favourite possession, happy to do nothing else, your wanting at the moment nothing beyond wanting it to last awhile longer, and then awhile more again, and so on until Dol would wake in the morning and force you to pick another desire to drive yourself towards until you could pursue this again and do it all over.

  
And over and over. _ad infinitum_; wash, rinse, repeat; do it again and again; because greed is to want and want, both what you have and what you don't and also what you can't get enough of. Whether it's a person or a thing or an act or a concept. It's not selfishness, and it's not good or bad, but aligned only with itself, just as you were. You drove yourself forward for you, and you were rewarded, with friends, with cool things, with good memories, with the puppy asleep in your arms. Everything you have you have gotten because you wanted, and weren't ashamed of driving yourself toward getting.

  
And you think, laying here, enjoying the comfort of Dolcetto against you, that that's proof that it's not bad, and you aren't either, because none of the nest would have followed you if you were.

  
You close your eyes and tuck your face into the crook of Dolcetto's neck, holding him slightly tighter. You want to hold him tighter still, still wanting the closeness you briefly achieved earlier —wanting that intimacy, wanting to not have to fuck for it first, wanting to not have anything to clean, wanting, wanting, wanting, _ad infinitum_ but not _ad nauseam_, a feeling as _you_ as your body is. It's who you are.

  
And you like yourself. And you like where you've gotten, happy with others and living a life that's your own. Your nature got you this, got you everything, and there's no fault there to find.

  
No, you think, there isn't, and you kiss Dolcetto's neck and keep him close as your thoughts run on until dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> i literally can't believe this wound up so long. i hope you guys liked it.
> 
> comments and kudos are like; super mondo appreciated. thanks for reading guys.


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